


Salt & Blood

by firehound



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Past Rape/Non-con, Platonic Relationships, Slow Burn, Warging, Wargs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firehound/pseuds/firehound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fulfilling prompt #27 on bighound-littlebird.</p><p>"After being nearly poisoned to death, Sansa becomes blind. She is sent to the Quiet Isles where the mute Gravedigger takes care of her."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Trident

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure about this one, so... bear with me.  
> I'll add tags when I need to.

The sun was setting, blood on the horizon. A cool breeze swept up from the water of the Trident to meet her, and it almost felt like Winterfell. Almost. Alayne sighed and leaned back against a tree, feeling the strength of it. _Would that I were as strong as the tree._ She closed her eyes and remembered the Hound, his eyes full of fury and terror. _He might have helped me._ If she’d gone with him, would she be any less damaged? Would she still be Sansa, still be a little bird?

Alayne refused to cry. Carefully she unstoppered the little vial she’d stolen. _Snakesbane._ The maester had been proud of this one, showing it to her while he poked and prodded at her, bandaging the scratches and rubbing smelly salves over her bruises. The most potent poison this side of the Narrow Sea, he said. Alayne squinted through it, seeing the sunset distorted through the glass. Before she could discourage herself, Alayne tipped the vial over her mouth and swallowed, the liquid burning horribly down her throat. Darkness stole over her.

—————

She dreamed of a girl, dark and slight, walking away from her. There was pain, and a thirst for wine. A pool of dark blood, seeping from her leg. In her mind's eye, a dying fire burned pitifully a few feet away, and a wineskin on the ground. The dark girl... She recognized her. Alayne _knew_ her, but she couldn't think of her name. _Another girl's sister. Not mine_. 

Another few hours passed. Darkness set in, and she heard footsteps, soft on the grass around her. She heard the sound of flint against steel, and a flame lit in her face. The brightness hurt. Alayne whined and turned away, and the flame was doused. Then hands on her, gently lifting her from the ground. The movement made her nauseated but she felt too weak to get sick. _Dead girls don’t get sick._ She opened her eyes but they stung and she closed them tight again. Had she been stronger, she would have twisted out of the grasp, but she couldn’t. Alayne wondered who had found her. _Petyr._ Suddenly she was struck with a wild fear. Alayne had killed him, slit his throat, but he was taking her back to the Eyrie now, back to be punished, to be _hurt_. She clenched her fists tightly, feeling raw skin stretch over her knuckles. She moaned, and it felt like water was rushing into her mouth, and she couldn’t breathe.

—————

It wasn’t Petyr carrying her. Whoever carried her now lifted her like she was a doll, a child. Petyr was a small man. Petyr wouldn’t spend so long without touching her, without pinching her arm or digging his nails into her wrist. He wouldn’t be so slow to insult her, to call her _stupid_ or _ugly_ or _useless._ The man carrying her was silent, and Alayne was grateful for it. 

Alayne felt too tired to stay awake for long periods of time. In truth, she would have slept whether she’d felt tired or not. Sleeping was a comfort; respite from old nightmares. So she dozed, the rocking motion of being carried lulling her into a half-sleep. 

After a long time Alayne felt him come to a stop and she opened her eyes, but it was too dark to see anything. She heard voices, at least five, and the popping of a fire. An inn. There should be light from a window, but there was none. All was black. “I can’t see,” Alayne whispered, her voice grating painfully. “I can’t see,” she repeated, louder. A calloused hand covered her mouth and the contact brought foreign emotions to flood into her consciousness: anger, remorse, fear. The feelings weren’t her own; she hadn’t felt anything so _intense_ in a long time. She didn’t know where they’d come from and she didn’t much want to know. She twisted away and the hand lifted, her thoughts becoming her own again. Alayne sighed in relief and relaxed as they entered the inn. The voices inside quieted. Alayne felt herself being carried up some steps, then she was laid on a soft bed. Automatically she curled into a ball, like a child. Several steps sounded near her and the door opened and closed.

A hand was shaking her shoulder. Alayne flinched away from the touch, feeling the stings and the aches return to her limbs. _Weeks ago. Shouldn’t hurt anymore._ She sat up slowly. The warm edge of a cup pressed against her lips and she drank gratefully. It was broth. The smell of it almost turned her stomach but she pushed back the feeling. 

The cup was soon empty. Alayne heard it being set down on a surface... A table, maybe. The broth soothed her for a few seconds, but soon her throat burned again and she coughed.

Her companion gave her bread. Alayne ate it slowly, and when she was finished, she lay down again and fell back asleep.


	2. Riding

Alayne woke to the sound of birds. Her bed was warm, and something... Felt different. Sitting up, she took a few deep breaths. She still couldn't see, the hurts on her body still ached, and her throat still stung a little, but she felt clearer. It was like a fog had lifted.

Suddenly there was noise, the sound of a chair being pushed back. She startled and turned to the source, trying to figure out what was happening. Then she heard footsteps moving across the room. "Where are you going?" she asked, but of course there was no answer. Alayne heard the door open and shut.

After a few minutes, the door opened again. There were lighter footsteps accompanying the heavier ones of her companion. "I've a bath for you, girl. The children will bring the water." The statement, which sounded like it came from a peasant girl, was punctuated by the clang of a metal tub set on the floor. "Your big man said you couldn't see and that I should help you with it." As soon as the words left the girl's mouth, Alayne could hear the sound of feet running upstairs and buckets of water being poured in the tub.

Alayne was surprised. "He spoke to you? He's never said a word to me."

"Aye, but only a few words. He's got a Brother's robes on, must be he's taken a vow. He's downstairs now, buying food and a horse."

A pause. Alayne didn't hear anyone else filling the tub, so she cautiously stepped toward it, feeling her way to where she thought it was. "It's there," the girl said. Alayne's hand was guided down to feel the water. "Get in. I haven't got all day."

Alayne undressed quickly. Another girl would have been shocked at the lack of privacy, but Alayne wasn't another girl. She hadn't been for a long time. She stepped carefully into the warm water, hissing as it stung at her cuts. The serving girl let out a low whistle. "Gods, you're filthy. And you've bruises and cuts all over. Stand still."

She didn't move. She felt a wet cloth running over her skin, scrubbing in places. The feeling was soothing if she ignored the stings and aches the pressure brought.

\--

Alayne and her big man left the inn on a horse. Before leaving, she thanked the serving girl again and asked what the man looked like, but the girl told her that his face was hidden.

Alayne faced forward while they rode. "I wish I could see," she spoke fretfully. "I'm sure the land here is beautiful. I can smell a little salt in the air..." She trailed off. She placed her hands on the horse's neck and felt the warmth and movement of its muscles. The man was sitting behind her in the saddle, his large frame surrounding hers. The feeling was strangely familiar.

\--

"You should have let me die there," Alayne said after a few hours of silence. "At the Trident. I was ready. The maester said that the poison helped a man freeze to death. That the slightest breeze would chill a man's bones. But you warmed me in that inn, and now you've got a sick blind girl to waste your coin on."

There was no response. No shift in his posture, no indication he had heard what she said. "You don't even speak to me," Alayne grumbled.

\--

Hours later, they stopped. Alayne could smell the night air, cool with a hint of salt. She felt him dismount behind her, then felt his hands on her waist as he lifted her down. She stood there as the horse walked off. Alayne assumed that it was being led away. She shifted from foot to foot, waiting. Finally, after hearing the sound of saddlebags being unbuckled from where the horse snorted softly, a large hand grasped hers. He guided her to the bedrolls and she lay down, feeling for the edge of a blanket and pulling it over herself. She listened, and it sounded like he was doing the same, a few feet away from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... It's been a year. Almost exactly, haha.
> 
> Anyway. I'm going great to finish this one first. After that, I'll finish Fighting Chance (which will be five chapters, tops) and rewrite some of Unafraid.
> 
> After that I'd like to start a longer fic, but I'm not sure what the premise should be. That'll be in a while though, so I won't worry about it much.


	3. Sight

Alayne woke, shivering violently. During the night the cold had soaked into her skin, even though she was wrapped tightly in her blanket. After extricating herself she touched the grass at the edge of her bedroll; it was hard with frost. She reached out again and felt a broad, hard warmth with a heartbeat pulsing below the surface. His chest. She paused for a moment, and when she didn't hear any change in his breathing, she pulled her hand back. Alayne crawled toward him, awkwardly dragging her bedroll with her. When she felt satisfied that her bedroll was close enough to his, she lay down again and wrapped herself in her blanket, shifting herself to get comfortable.

After a few minutes of wiggling, she heard him give an exasperated sigh. Alayne froze. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and then she felt an edge of her bedroll lift up, the whole thing moving even closer to his. She felt her blanket being pulled over them both and his arm coming around her front, pulling her back to his chest.

\--

Alayne was dreaming. Wasn't she? Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting over the grass. Turning her head, she saw... She _saw_. This had to be a dream, but it felt so real... A grey-brown mass lay a few feet from her. Stepping closer, she saw red-brown hair spilling from a cloak that covered a slight figure. Curled around this figure was a much larger one, wearing a brown roughspun cloak and a cowl. Steely grey eyes stared out from under the hood and Alayne stepped sideways, watching the eyes follow her for a moment, then looking down at the reddish hair, the pale face. Looking down as well, Alayne saw the cloven hooves of a deer.

\--

All was black once again. Alayne was warm, huddled under her blanket and pressed up against a large, hard mass. She felt his fingers brush gently through her bait and his warm breath on the back of her neck. The feeling of his hands reminded her of the times her mother brushed her hair, telling her how she would be queen one day. His finger brushed her skin, and at the contact Alayne saw in her mind a spotted brown fawn, poised to flee, looking deep into her eyes. Then her line of sight moved downwards and she saw a girl huddled against her, face hidden and reddish hair tangled under a large, calloused hand. Then the vision was lost as his fingers moved from her skin. Alayne felt the man let out a deep sigh and, as his hand touched her skin again, Alayne saw a dark-haired girl in her mind's eye. The girl was young, six or seven maybe, and she sang the Mother's Hymn.

\--

Soon after they rose, the big man gave Alayne an apple and some bread with cheese. Before she had the chance to eat, however, he guided her to the horse and sat her in the saddle. When he didn't mount behind her, she was confused. "Aren't you getting up, too?" Alayne felt something being pressed into her hand. The reins. "I can't ride a horse. You know that." She frowned. After a moment she heard him picking up their things, felt the jostling of the saddle as he secured them on the horse's back. Then the horse began to move. He was leading it, she assumed, and as they moved a noise she'd been hearing grew louder: the rushing of water.

After several minutes they stopped. The river was right beside them and it was loud, but Alayne could still hear him doing... Something. She had no idea what he was doing, but she felt his hand brush hers as he grasped the saddle to support himself. The small touch brought a hazy image to her: he was stepping out of his boots and setting them next to his Brother's robes and his tunic. Suddenly Alayne had an idea. He was going to take a bath, she realized, and after a few minutes, when he let go of the saddle and started to walk away, she stopped him. "Give me your hand." She held out her hand and after a long moment she felt his rough hand in hers. Slowly she drew him closer and focused on the feel of his hand in hers... And she saw. She saw her own face, brow furrowed in concentration. She saw the river rushing past. She saw his hand, scarred and rough.

Alayne smiled and let go, satisfied. "You can take your bath now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter's notes, I lied. Sorry. This one will probably end up being long-ish and Fighting Chance will be about five chapters long. So I'm going to get a good chunk of this done, then take a break to finish FC. After that... We'll see.


End file.
